The Tale of Your Resident Sadist
by Lillian Smith
Summary: No one really cared about the caretaker of Hogwarts and how he, even as a Squib, cleaned and dusted every single inch of the castle. His bitter and sadistic attitude lead to everyone hating him, but maybe it was his way of dealing with the burden of being born as a Squib and of course, his past.


**_Rated: T_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter._**

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**This story came to me as I thought, "Why not take a character everyone hates and give them a story, amiright?"**

**Also a huge thanks to the whole Beauxbatons team who betaed this for me.**

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**International Wizarding School Championship:**

**School: Beauxbatons**

**Year: 5**

**Theme: Godric's Hollow**

**Words: 2363**

**Prompts: **

**Main: [Character] Argus Filch**

**Side prompts: [Weather] Thunderstorm; ****[Colour] Emerald green**

**Special rule: Write a pairing you have never written before: Filch/Irma**

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**Ages:**

**Filch: 19 during WW1, 30 at the end; 46 during WW2**

**Irma: 16 during WW1, 26 at the end; 43 during WW2**

**In canon, Filch was born pre-1951 and Irma pre-1966. I just took them as 1951 for Filch and 1954 for Irma.**

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**The Tale of Your Resident Sadist**

_Sixteen years._

Sixteen years since the last war.

He was only 19 when it started. And then he was 30. And it was over. And he had lost so much.

If anyone asked out loud whether Argus Filch had emotions, they'd most likely be mocked by the Hogwarts students or maybe even hexed by one of the crazier pupils, because no one could imagine a sadist like _Filch_ having emotions.

But the truth was that sadists were _driven_ by emotion.

And by their pasts.

Looking at his mother's grave in Godric's Hollow, the only emotion that Filch could feel was disgust. He wished the feeling stemmed from seeing the grave so bare. But that wasn't true.

"_Squib."_

A non-magical person, born to magical parents.

That was what he was. That single cursed word defined every single fiber of his being, whether it was true or not.

_Muggle._

And when his parents realized it, they never looked at him the same again. That desperate attempt of theirs to get him into Hogwarts had somehow worked. But it had been a hopeless effort on their part—they had hoped that being surrounded by magical peers might bring out some hidden magic in him.

_Magic._

That magic which had never been there.

Of course, it never came.

As soon as the Sorting Hat realized, it screamed loudly for all to hear—how _humiliating_.

His parents shunned him, and his aunt took him in. Kind, non-discriminating Aunt Ez. She was probably the only person who had treated him like he was not broken. She had always told him she believed in him and that just because he couldn't do magic, it didn't mean he was worthless.

Because "everyone is born for a reason."

Yet he had seen the well-hidden pity she had felt for him. He hadn't wanted her pity.

He just didn't want anyone to know.

It happened when he was out. He was having one of his bad days, and it ended with a fight with Aunt Ez from which he stormed off, too furious to continue the argument. The sky looked like it was holding the weight of an impending storm—which perfectly captured his state of mind. He knew it was dangerous to be outside—with You-Know-Who and his followers attacking Muggles, Muggle-borns, and Squibs. He had to hide the fact that he was an Undesirable. Aunt Ez had given him a fake wand—she had tried to get a real one, but couldn't—and had taught him some incantations for basic spells.

He should be inside, at home and safe.

But that day, home was the most dangerous place to be.

When he saw it, shivers ran up his spine.

It was clear to see even from far away—the emerald green skull with a snake protruding from its mouth, shimmering majestically in a haze of greenish smoke. The Dark Mark.

Hovering above the cottage he soon discovered to be devoid of life. And not any cottage. _Aunt Ez's_ _cottage_. The outside of it seemed normal enough—there weren't any signs of struggle.

Numbly, he pushed the door open, which creaked under his touch and walked through the hallway. It opened onto the dining room, and there he saw his worst nightmare come true.

Aunt Ez's dead body, sprawled across the floor. Argus didn't know much about magic but he knew that the Killing Curse hadn't done this. The spell caused a quick kill—you died before knowing what had hit you. The state of the room was evidence that they hadn't killed her immediately. His aunt had struggled to live and defend herself.

Written on the wall above her, in her blood:-

"_**You got lucky, Squib."**_

His brain did not register it. It could not. His aunt, dead. Dead. Dead, _dead_. Killed. Murdered. They were after him. The Death Eaters. Just like she had said. And she was dead. His aunt, who had taken him in, his aunt, who had cooked for him, his aunt, who had taught him some basic magical knowledge. Aunt Ez, who had believed in him. Aunt Ez, who had loved him. Aunt Ez. Aunt Ez. Aunt Ez.

And the next thing he knew, he was hyperventilating.

It happened in Godric's Hollow, and they lived oh-so-close to the famed Potters. But the Death Eaters simply hadn't known. They had committed a brutal murder right next to where the Potters lived, and _they hadn't known_.

Why?

Why did they have special protection and Aunt Ez didn't? Was it Argus' fault because he couldn't perform magic?

_Was it his fault his aunt died?_

Later, people would say that when they reached the house, all they found were a woman's body and the Dark Mark. No sign of the Squib.

He started running to Merlin knew where. He couldn't breathe nor think, and there came a point in time when he stopped caring whether he was safe or not. His aunt had died. What was the point of living anyway? He thought of it as he leaned down behind a building. It was then he realized it was raining heavily, and that he was soaking wet. And sweaty too. He would have found it a nuisance, but it was relieving to feel the rain on his face.

Ironically, it helped dry the tears.

He tried to think and process what had happened. But the true impact of the situation hadn't settled in yet. He looked down and realized his hands were shaking and not because it was so windy and so cold but because he was scared.

The sky roared and it felt like the earth was shaking under its power and as if the world was ending. But it wasn't. It was just Argus' world that was ending. Even though there was such a storm outside, people had continued living and hadn't let nature's plans ruin their lives.

Just like how they all had continued with their lives, too busy to notice that a helpless teenager had just lost his aunt and his reason to live.

Footsteps.

Before Argus could think of what to do, the raindrops suddenly stopped falling on him.

"Are you okay?"

Argus looked up. A girl. Black hair, pale skin, sunken brown eyes, slim and tall. Umbrella in her hands, extending over his head, protecting him from the rain.

She had a wand.

"Witch," he muttered.

"Sorry?" she asked in confusion, looking down at him.

"You're a witch," Argus growled, getting up, and then he was the one looking down on her.

"Your point being?" she asked.

"What are you doing alone? It's dangerous."

"I'm not alone," she said. She raised her hand to gesture towards someone, but another figure down the street caught Argus' eye.

He quickly covered the girl's mouth and pulled her behind him. In the sudden movement, the umbrella fell from her hands, and a surprised squeak escaped her as she struggled, but his terrified whispered, "_Death Eater_," put her into a shocked silence.

The dark figure had struck a familiar chord, and in an instant, Argus remembered where he had seen the man last—home. Before he had walked home and discovered the horrifying truth, he had stood in a small grove of trees as he hadn't wanted to confront Aunt Ez just yet. That was when he had noticed a figure coming out of the cottage, and he was fortunately not spotted among the trees.

And now, he was seeing that very same figure. Sure, the thick clouds darkened the streets considerably and it would be difficult to recognize a silhouette but Argus was positive that it was _not_ a hallucination. There was_ no way _he would_ ever be mistaken _about Aunt Ez's_ murderer_. He was too scared to move or lunge at the man or punch him.

Or _kill him_.

He really wanted to kill him. But before he could work up the nerve, the man turned down a side street and disappeared.

Gradually, Argus let go of the girl, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"How did you know that man was a—" the girl hesitated. "—a Death Eater?"

Argus remained quiet. He bent down to pick up the umbrella as to avoid looking at her as he spoke. "He killed my aunt."

There was another silence as he returned the umbrella to her, and he noticed that her hands were shaking too. "Thank you," she whispered, loud enough for him to hear through the pattering sounds.

Argus nodded and slowly walked away in the pounding rain, leaving her with her thoughts.

"Wait!" she said, and Argus stopped. "Y—you can have the umbrella."

Argus gave her a quizzical look because of which she hastily continued, "M—my father is over there, and he has another. I'll tell him I lost mine. And you look like you need one."

"Thank you," Argus' voice cracked as he took the umbrella and covered both of them. _Merlin, I'm going to cry again._ "You—do you go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes!" She nodded and looked at him hopefully. "Do you too? What year are you in?"

"I... Actually," Argus hesitated. He didn't want her to know the truth, but at the same time, he didn't want to lie to her. "I graduated."

"Oh." She looked disappointed.

"What's it like?" Argus asked. "Hogwarts, I mean. It must be terrifying, right?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "I'm just a sixth year, but my parents are gonna stop me from going there. Till this war is over, at least."

"Oh," Argus said. He liked talking to her, but he couldn't, not now. He wanted to lay down somewhere safe and rest. And think because his mind was in a state of swirling emotions, like the storming weather around them. And then run again. He had to go. "Alright, I have to go…"

"Well—uh—take care of yourself!" the girl managed to say as she shielded herself from the downpour before she went towards her father, who called for her.

Years later, when the war ended, and Argus returned to Hogwarts to work, he saw her again.

The girl who had given him an umbrella. It was one of the few shreds of kindness he had gotten from others. No one had ever cared for him after they found out he was a Squib—except Aunt Ez—and on the rare occasion when he did receive genuine kindness, it usually masked the pity. During the war, no one could afford to be kind. She had been foolish and yet kind. To a stranger.

Their meeting may have been swifter than the flashes of lightning that day, but its memory was etched in his heart.

It was during the start of term feast that Argus finally saw her again.

She had changed considerably. But those brown, sunken eyes and the way she spoke were unmistakable. He stared at her, and she probably noticed, but she didn't show it. He wanted to know if she remembered. But why would she?

In a desperate attempt, he tried to borrow a random book from the library, but when she entered his name, she showed no signs of recognition. His heart fell.

But why?

Why did he care?

Why _should_ he care?

Irma Pince. That was her name. Was that her maiden name? Was she married?

Argus was obsessed with knowing more about her. He didn't do it on purpose—it just happened, and when he realized it, he tried to control himself. But it didn't work because they soon found themselves talking and bonding over their similar obsession with neatness and similar dislike of the students' carelessness. At least, that was how it started. They talked together and complained together and worked together.

Before they knew it, they fell in love with each other.

Argus didn't know whether she knew about his secret or not, but he'd smile, attempt conversation and find reasons to meet every now and then.

And when the Death Eaters started raiding the castle again, he didn't feel the anger he was supposed to feel. You-Know-Who was rising to power again—_so what_? He liked seeing people in pain, even though it felt bad afterwards. The pleasure of seeing others suffer was too satisfying. A war was too much, but witnessing those careless ungrateful magical kids get the punishment they deserved felt good.

It was only when he realized that they discriminated against him too because he was a Squib that he felt anger and resentment. His rights of punishing the students were taken away from him, and the Carrows took the honour instead. And they exploited it so brutally that even he found himself feeling some pity for the students.

It was easy for him to slip out of the castle—no one really cared for him anymore. Because "Squibs are harmless anyway." The only reason they kept him around was so that he would clean up the bloodied messes the Carrows left behind.

And that was how he found himself in Godric's Hollow.

It seemed like he had gone back to where he had started. After spitting on his parents' graves—which was the most amount of disrespect he could show them—he did the exact opposite to his aunt's. He brought some emerald green lisianthus flowers for her as he knew those had been her favourites and laid them down gently near the headstone.

"_Ezmeralda Filch._

_1934 – 1970_

'_She always did the right thing.'_"

After paying his respects to her grave—something that strangely wasn't an alien-like act for a person like Argus as others thought it would have been—he returned to Hogwarts.

Teachers and staff who stayed at Hogwarts all year, like him, considered it their home. He didn't. He hated the students—they always dirtied all his hard work, and unlike them, he didn't use any spells to clean the whole castle. He did it, by himself, with hard manual labour and these students with magic came along and destroyed it. He hated them. He hated the powerful teachers, who never even allowed him to properly punish the students. Hogwarts was no home.

It was Aunt Ez's cottage that was home.

"Home is the safest place ever."

Yet home had been the most dangerous place that day.

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**I'd like to explain how I've incorporated the prompt emerald green in my story:**

**1) Because of its long history and associations with precious gemstones, emerald green is considered a classic color that can symbolize refinement, wealth and royalty. [The Dark Mark]**

**2) It also symbolizes balance and harmony. It is seen as the color of luck and renewal. In color psychology, green is thought to help balance emotions and promote a sense of calm and clarity. [Aunt Ez's personality]**

**3) The meaning of the name Ezmeralda is, 'the prized green emerald gemstone'. ****People with this name-value truth, justice, and discipline, and may be quick-tempered with those who do not. Because of their focus on order and practicality, they may seem overly cautious and conservative at times.**

**4) Also the flowers Argus used in the end are emerald green lisianthus flowers which**** has plenty of different meanings:**

**i) The joining of two people for a lifelong bond**

**ii) Expressing gratitude for a gift or favor from a friend**

**iii) Showing someone how much appreciate them, especially for their warm personality**

**iv) Traditional values and old fashioned morals.**

**v) The lisianthus symbolizes rising above your surroundings and being grateful for everything in your life. It's also a wedding flower due to its link with devotion and long-lasting bonds. This plant is also available in varying shades of green. These green ruffles work well to symbolize wealth, fertility, and success at work.**

**Judges and readers, I hope I've done well :)**


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